


High Drive

by oceaxe



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Consensual but non-negotiated BDSM, Deepthroating, M/M, Masturbation in Bathroom, Masturbation in hotel room, Prostate Stimulation, mild bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 07:08:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9480515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceaxe/pseuds/oceaxe
Summary: Arthur's sex drive gets flipped to "ON." When Eames notices, he decides to do something about it.Many thanks to AmoretteHD and Teacuphuman for the beta work! You guys are the best and I heart you.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, there's some consensual but non-negotiated BDSM in this. Just a heads-up!

Eames was starting to doubt his own sanity. Either he was losing his mind or Arthur was going off the deep end, and he knew, to his chagrin, that the former was far more likely true than the latter. 

It was just that Arthur— stodgy, reliable Arthur— had begun acting somewhat, well. Unreliable. Sneaking off at unpredictable moments to who-knew-where, to do who-knew-what with who-knew-whom. Normally, Arthur’s whereabouts were entirely predictable. If there was a job, he was firmly rooted in the office, casting his electronic net for data points from dawn till dusk. He had his food delivered, he had his dry cleaning delivered- copious amounts of it, in fact. He only left to go back to wherever the team was staying. That was it. 

On top of which, he’d insisted on his own room this time, which was both unprecedented and disappointing. Eames could admit that he’d been looking forward to sharing a room with him on this job. Of course, it hadn’t been guaranteed by any means; on the last job the extractor had paired Eames with Ariadne, seemingly intuiting that her virtue was safer with Eames than Arthur’s would have been. But this new extractor seemed a little oblivious, if her email communication was anything to go by. He’d hoped to slip in under the radar with her, get assigned to room with Arthur and make something out of their years-long build-up. Get a leg over, to put it bluntly. Get Arthur under him, on top of him, inside him, around him at long last.

Instead, and contravening the principles of fiscal responsibility and the buddy-system, they’d all gotten their own rooms because Arthur had put his foot down. 

Arthur was hiding something, and it must be something that a roommate would have been likely to discover. It was obvious when one put together the unusual absences from HQ and the private room debacle, not to mention a certain je ne sais quoi about his body habitus. Arthur looked uncharacteristically relaxed at odd moments, almost languid. Drugs? Something more sinister? 

 

Rapping at Arthur’s door, Eames rehearsed the little speech that he hoped would gain him entry to Arthur’s sanctum sanctorum. It went along these lines: ‘I’m not sure I trust Olivia, she seems to have cut some kind of special deal with Magnus and it makes me suspect her real motivations in hiring us for this job.’ This would all be said with a mild frown and a slight shake of his head, as if he could hardly believe he was saying it but had no choice. ‘Better safe than sorry.’ That was a sentiment sure to appeal to Arthur’s predilection for planning and contingencies. Once he was inside, he would improvise; it was his speciality. 

Subterfuge fled his mind utterly when Arthur answered the door, a towel clutched haphazardly around his waist. Eames could see the bed from his vantage point and it was utterly disheveled, the coverlet on the floor, the sheets rucked-up beyond repair— and was that a bottle of _lube_ on the pillow? 

Arthur’s bleary eyes sharpened immediately on seeing Eames, and he pulled the door tight so just his head and a sliver of his torso appeared. “What do you want, Eames?” he growled. Eames suppressed a shiver; Arthur’s growls did a number on his equanimity. 

“I, er, I wanted to—you know what? I’ll come back later.” 

“Text me first,” Arthur said. “Better yet, save it for the office.” He closed the door hard, nearly taking Eames’ nose off. 

Eames stepped backwards, head reeling from an overload of information. Had there been another person in there? Was Arthur _hooking up_ on the _job_? A sickening rush of emotion washed over Eames. He walked back to his room in a daze and lay awake half the night, trying not to think about what he’d seen. And failing miserably.

\---

Arthur stomped back to his bed and sat down heavily. Jesus Christ, he did not need Eames poking around in his private business right now. For fuck’s sake. He still didn’t have a great explanation for what was happening to him. It was like a switch had been flipped. 

Arthur had never had a high sex drive; in fact, he’d used to look down on people who couldn’t seem to control their base impulses. He had to laugh at that now; he’d turned into a walking base impulse overnight. His hand strayed to his dick whenever he wasn’t consciously restraining it. He masturbated five, six times a day—minimum. Where all the jizz was coming from, he didn’t know. It was porn star quantity, and it grossed him out while simultaneously he couldn’t help feeling just the tiniest bit proud. 

But it was strange and also worrying. It was starting to affect his ability to focus on the job. 

When he was totally honest with himself, he was able to concede that the origination point of this onslaught of sexual desire was identical to the moment when he realized that Eames was not merely obnoxiously European, but _gay_. 

Or, to be fair, bi. Could be bi. The point was, he definitely had sex with men. Other men. Not Arthur. Luckier men than Arthur.

Near the end of their last job, Arthur had seen someone leaving Eames’ room. Someone looking totally fucked out and satisfied, someone with copious bruising around their neck of the hickey variety. Someone male, and slender, and well dressed. 

It had evidently set off a chain reaction in Arthur’s brain and groin. 

He threw himself back on the bed and thanked God he’d managed to swing a private room. The last thing he needed was for Eames to discover what a disgusting horndog he’d turned into. Seeing him at the door of his hotel room had kicked up the fires again; Arthur took himself in hand and tugged hard, his eyes fluttering shut as he flopped back against the mattress.

\---

Eames had shared a room with Arthur at least eight times in the past few years and he knew what Arthur was like in his personal habits. Fastidious. Tight laced. The first few times they’d roomed together he had lain awake at night, listening for any furtive rustling, any faint moans or quickened breaths. Sad to say, he had never caught the slightest hint of any tells in that direction. Perhaps Arthur only wanked in the shower. The thought, compelling as it was, had fueled numerous fantasies for Eames but maddeningly there had been no proof.

But that scene in Arthur’s room last night— it haunted him all day long. And luckily so, because having been forced into the loo to rub one out had produced fodder for his theory. 

He hadn’t been the only person in the WC utilizing it for purposes other than its intended. 

Eames had entered with his habitual stealthiness. As he eased the door open, he heard those sounds, those miraculous sounds, that he’d given up on hearing in this lifetime. His mouth fell open, then closed as he focused on the timbre of the voice, making sure he wasn’t getting a halfie over Magnus, for christ’s sake. It was definitely Arthur —he’d heard that harsh sigh in meetings, usually in response to something Eames had said. This time it was accompanied by the filthy sound of skin slapping against skin. A painfully vivid image assaulted Eames, along with a delicious compulsion to join him. 

He snuck to the first empty stall and engaged the lock with care, gingerly lowering his zip and reaching in for his now-engorged prick. A smile flitted over his face—this was surprisingly thrilling and, as an added enticement, felt like getting one over on Arthur. His cock leapt into his hand like an eager animal and he stroked it, long and firm and then light and teasing. All the while, the intoxicating sounds of Arthur’s hand abusing his own prick filled the air. It would appear that Arthur liked it rough and fast. The thought made lust spike in Eames’ blood. It wouldn’t be long now, perhaps he could time it so they came together?

Arthur was taking short little breaths, clearly trying to stifle further moans but unable to prevent a quiet whining sound in the back of his throat. The slapping sped up, frantic, and Eames pictured his agonized face, eyes clenched shut, mouth open. Come spurted over his fist and he put his other hand over the head to prevent spattering the floor and metal door of the stall. He felt strangely elated that they’d been fucking their hands at the same time- even though Arthur didn’t know, they’d essentially had a kind of sex together. It was exhilarating knowledge to have. 

Once his heart rate came down, he heard Arthur at the sinks. He waited, breathing stifled, hoping not to alert Arthur to his presence now that he wasn’t distracted with satisfying his drives. The door opened and closed and Eames let out a sigh of mingled relief, satisfaction, and frustration. He leaned his forehead against the cool metal of the door. 

 

\---

 

The butt plug had seemed like a good idea. Arthur’s body had become obsessed by the desire for penetration. It had started off with an occasional need for a finger brushing his hole and graduated rapidly to a pronounced preference for a dildo up his ass whenever he was jerking off in his room. Soon, he found he preferred a dildo whenever he masturbated at all. It pained him to admit that about half his jerking off took place outside the confines of his room, but his new drive wouldn’t give him a moment’s peace, professionalism be damned.

And so now, here he was in a meeting, with a plug firmly planted in his ass, torturing his prostate every time he shifted in his seat. His cock was hard, and his pants were too fitted,and he was starting to seriously fear exposure. He hoped to God Olivia wouldn’t ask him to detail his plans for handling security on the first level because that would require the use of a whiteboard and _that_ would entail standing up in front of everyone, which was not going to happen. He was keeping this problem under the table.

“Arthur? You alright?” Olivia looked at him doubtfully, head tilted. Arthur darted a glance over to Eames, but he was occupied in sketching something on a loose piece of paper. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said dismissively. Normally he would have pushed to know the reason why Olivia thought he might not be, but he knew perfectly well and didn’t want to draw further attention to himself. “I’m just wondering what else we need to talk about, or can we get back to work?” He pulled his laptop closer to himself, signalling that he had important shit to take care of.

Olivia nodded. “Yeah, I think that takes care of things for today. But be in early tomorrow, we may need to have another planning session before Eames goes to do recon.” Arthur sagged in relief. Now he could just sit here, as still as possible to avoid further incursions on his prostate, and let his erection safely deflate away from prying eyes. 

“Arthur,” Eames said, looking over with a terrifying gleam in his eye, a suspiciously bland expression on his face. “A word?”

Arthur swallowed and turned his torso to Eames as he approached. Eames got right up in his personal space, hooking a chair closer with his ankle and settling in it noisily. 

“So, about those tax records,” he said, leaning towards Arthur and opening his laptop for him. Arthur snatched it away, jolting when their fingers glanced off each other. 

“You’re too fucking handsy,” he growled, not really caring if he was being dick. He was under duress, for god’s sake. At this distance he could smell the cedar and smoke of Eames’ cologne and it went directly to his cock, destroying what little progress he’d made in regaining his composure. He rested his hand over the bulge in his pants and even that small contact felt so good, he found himself tracing the outline of it against all his better judgment. He would stop in a second. 

“Pardon me, I certainly don’t mean to offend,” Eames said as he leaned back in his chair, giving Arthur an enigmatic smile. “But do you have time to explain the mark’s tax history? Might help me find some pressure points.” Eames swiveled his chair, bringing his legs towards Arthur’s under the table. The only way to avoid them was to push his chair out and back a bit, which Arthur did automatically. It wasn’t until he saw Eames’ gaze glued to his crotch that he realized the strategic error he’d just made. 

His fingers were still resting on his cock, which was stiff enough that the outline of the head could be seen through the fabric. Eames gaze slowly traveled up from that flagrant display to Arthur’s wide eyes. The expression on his face lanced through Arthur like a hot knife. Arthur swiftly moved his chair so his lap was firmly under the table in its entirety, his chest pushed tight against the edge. His face flamed; he could feel the heat of the blood in his cheeks. 

Suddenly it was just too much for him. Arthur would have given anything at that moment to be the guy who could play that off, but he wasn’t. To make everything fifteen times worse, it turned out that Arthur had a humiliation kink. He was about to come in his pants from the knowledge that Eames could see his predicament. Spinning in his chair away from Eames, he stalked to the restroom, not caring that he was making a spectacle of himself. It would be far worse for him to sit there, bathed in the miasma of Eames’ chemistry, heat, and scent, and risk coming in his underwear. 

Oh fuck, that image. He had to get to the bathroom stat. 

\---

Arthur storming off to take care of himself in the loo would have been enough to feed Eames’ fantasies for weeks but what he discovered on his computer outstripped it by miles. 

He really should have known better than to leave his laptop open and unlocked in the presence of Eames. 

Eames casually turned the computer to face him and did a file search for pornographic keywords, which turned up some surprising results. Why Arthur didn’t encrypt this kind of thing he couldn’t imagine, but he was grateful for the uncharacteristic security lapse because Jesus Fucking Christ, Arthur was into some kinky shit, to judge by the cascade of filthy thumbnails in the file marked bdsm. Eames carefully schooled the triumphant smirk off his face and tabbed out of the files before anyone noticed.

Then he hightailed it out of there so he could plot his next move in peace. 

 

Eames waited in his hotel room until eleven that night, when he was relatively certain Arthur would have returned from HQ. 

Arthur didn’t answer on the first knock. He didn’t answer on the second. But on the third he flung open the door so wide, careless in his exasperation, that Eames was able to force his way inside with no problem. Arthur gaped at him and backed up a few steps, then froze. The scene before Eames was priceless. He would have paid good money just to have a photo of this, much less be in media res and about to capitalize on it. 

Arthur was shirtless and trouserless, his dick straining against his pants. His hair was tousled - _tousled_ \- and there was dried come on his chest. The bed was a portrait of depravity - sheets kicked nearly off, an uncapped bottle of lube dripping its contents on the bed, a vibrator still buzzing softly. 

“This is quite the pretty picture,” Eames said, his gaze raking Arthur ruthlessly. “Give me a safe word.”

Arthur startled at that. “Safe word,” he repeated hollowly, as if unsure what Eames meant. 

“You know what that is?” Eames asked, knowing he must, hoping he did.

“Of course,” Arthur said, a bit snappishly, and Eames’ blood pumped hard in his veins. This was still his Arthur, darling pissy Arthur. Thank god. “My safe word is ‘safe word.’”

Eames barked a laugh of sheer relief. “Excellent. Lovely, Arthur. Let’s play,” he growled, stepping towards Arthur, whose back stiffened but otherwise did not react.

“And what have we here,” Eames murmured as he bent down to retrieve the magazine that lay on the floor next to the bed. Arthur was watching his movements like a prey animal, eyes bright with terrified alertness, muscles coiled to flee. Or fight. _He might fight_ , Eames thought. 

He flipped through the magazine, which was full of pictures of men in leather performing erotic torture on other men dressed in far less leather. Restraints, submission, gagging, and what looked like the nonconsensual use of vibrators featured heavily in the proceedings. Drops of dried come spattered the page. Eames smiled to himself, then turned the smile on Arthur, dialing up the predatory intent. 

“Kneel for me.” 

Arthur’s eyes fluttered shut and a moment later his knees hit the floor. Eames felt his core temperature rise at the sight of Arthur, head bowed in a show of submission. He stepped forward, into Arthur’s space, nearly straddling his knees with his feet so that his crotch bumped up against Arthur’s clavicle. 

Eames pushed him to sit back on his heels, which brought his mouth in line with the erection pushing at the fly of Eames’ trousers. Arthur put up no resistance at all, assuming the position with liquid ease. Why he’d ever wanted Arthur to fight was impossible to remember - this was how it should be, this felt _right_.

“Bring your hands together in front of you,” he ordered, taking his belt off. Arthur held his wrists out in supplication, giving Eames a look that would certainly haunt him for the rest of his life - challenge, capitulation, trust, fear. He gently wrapped Arthur’s wrists with the belt, securing it loosely. It served less as a restraint than a symbol of what was happening between them. 

“Don’t touch yourself,” Eames said as he took in Arthur’s rigid cock pushing against the cotton of his pants, the material wet with copious precome. Arthur swallowed and nodded, trembling slightly. 

Eames found himself transfixed by this; he wished he’d had both the time and the nerve to envision this scenario more thoroughly, but he would never have imagined how desperate Arthur was for a firm hand. Circling him, Eames watched how every inch of the man was alert to his presence and the potential effect he could have. He’d been planning to have Arthur deep throat him, and the idea held appeal, but he wanted something… more. 

Eames got down on his knees behind Arthur and put his hands on his shoulder blades, memorizing the texture of his fine skin, the graceful shapes his muscles made underneath. Arthur was gorgeous, a miracle of perfect proportions, so exactly suited to Eames’ taste that it was hard to imagine how he could be improved upon. 

He pushed on the shoulders under his palms and Arthur took the hint, leaning forward until he was on his elbows, his ass high in the air. Eames heard how his breathing sped up; his own was coming faster now too. He pulled the pants down around Arthur’s knees and then looked up on the bed for what he thought he’d seen before. The vibrator lay on the pillow and he almost reached for it until he saw something else, half-hidden in the sheets. It was a prostate stimulation device. Perfect. So much better than a vibrator. 

Eames grabbed it and warmed it with his hand, then returned his focus to Arthur’s ass. He thumbed at the brownish-pink hole and hummed in surprise when it slid right in. Arthur was loose, and slick, and eager.

“Oh, Arthurrr,” he moaned. “You are so ready for this. You lovely thing, you want this so badly, don’t you?”

Arthur’s head bobbed minutely but that was in no way sufficient for Eames. “Tell me how you want it,” he coaxed, the barest inflection of steel in his voice.

“I want it. I need it. Please, I need it, Eames,” Arthur whispered. He was wracked by a full-body shudder as Eames rubbed the blunt end of the device against his hole, working it in on the remains of the lube from his previous activities. There was some resistance, so Eames retrieved the lube from the bed and generously slicked it before bringing it back to bear. It slid in almost effortlessly this time, Arthur’s hole devouring it hungrily. 

Once it was nicely lodged where it belonged, Eames urged Arthur back into the kneeling position, ass resting on his heels. He leaned in, murmuring in his ear, “You’re going to bring yourself off with that, without using your hands. You know how?” 

Arthur inhaled sharply. “Yeah,” he said. He undulated his hips, and Eames knew from prior experience how the massager was working with the motion of his body to relentlessly stimulate his prostate. If Arthur kept up the motion, he would come without being touched. 

Eames stood and walked back to face Arthur. He tilted Arthur’s head up so their eyes met and smiled a slow, dirty smile. He held eye contact as he undid his flies and pushed his trousers around his knees. 

“Take my pants down. No hands,” he clarified, as Arthur brought his bound hands up to pull at the elastic. “Use your mouth.” Arthur made a face that clearly said he thought this was a bridge too far, but then smirked, rose up and licked into Eames’ belly button before settling back on his heels and rocking his hips, fucking himself on the device in his ass. He shot Eames a filthily suggestive look and took the elastic band in his teeth, pulling it out and tugging it over Eames’ rigid cock. 

It bounced down and slid along Arthur’s lips, the sight causing a drop of precome to well up, which Arthur lapped up. Eames’ hands went to the back of Arthur’s head, gripping his scalp and trying to push himself further in that hot mouth.

Arthur resisted, though- nuzzling his cock with his nose while his mouth regained purchase on the waistband of the pants and pulled them down past his balls. Then he licked a fat stripe up the length of the shaft and Eames shuddered, as much from the fact that Arthur was clearly in heaven as from the sensation. 

\---

Arthur was choking on Eames’ cock and he’d never been happier in his life. He had relaxed his throat the way he’d seen other men do in the videos he’d been mainlining the last few months, and it was working out better than he’d expected, both from his own perspective and clearly from Eames’, who was making - oh _God_ \- the best sounds. The best. 

Eames’ hand cradled his jaw and in between guttural moans he was murmuring tender nonsense that Arthur almost couldn’t bear to hear. He focused on keeping his gag reflex in check as he tried to swallow around the huge cock filling his mouth and throat. The aneros in his ass was working his prostate over - all he had to do was imagine he was humping Eames’ cock and his body kept up the undulation almost without his volition. 

A curious sensation began to come over him. The rest of the room fell away as all his senses dwindled down to the shaft stretching him wide, the saliva spilling over his lips, the smell of Eames’ musk. His jaw should have been hurting by this point, but he felt like he was floating, a blissed-out feeling swamping his whole nervous system. 

It was only as he felt Eames’ thighs start to shudder that he realized he was about to come. Eames’ hand clenched in his hair, holding Arthur tight on his cock as it spilled down his throat, and a relentless wave of euphoric urgency swept through Arthur’s body, his dick jetting stripes of come all over the floor and Eames’ pants legs. 

What happened after that, he wasn’t entirely sure, only that he came to in Eames’ arms some unknown length of time later, lying amongst the sheets. He dimly registered the long warm strokes of Eames’ hand up and down his flank and without conscious thought nuzzled into his chest, reveling in the feel of the chest hair against his cheek, the incredible animal warmth of him. Eames hummed a little growl of affirmation and Arthur’s eyes slid shut again. 

When he regained consciousness the second time, it was to Eames kissing his temple, long tender presses of his lips. He smiled and angled his face to make his mouth available, turning slightly in his arms. Eames’ took the invitation, licking along the seam of Arthur’s lips, then working in deeper. It reignited the fire in Arthur’s groin, causing him to grab at Eames’ shoulders, pulling him down on top of Arthur til there was no space at all between them. 

Eames pulled back, nipping at his lower lip and then murmuring, “I have wanted to play with you for a very long time, Arthur. Did you like it?” 

Arthur surged up against him, aware that his inhibitions were still lowered from what must have been his first experience of subspace, but not caring in the slightest. “I loved it. I want to do it again.” 

“That can be arranged. Before or after I fuck you silly?” It wasn’t until then that Arthur noticed he was rutting up against Eames, his cock hard as a rock and wet with precome. 

“God, yes,” Arthur said. 

Eames chuckled. “Which one, love? You didn’t specify.”

“After. Let’s just fuck now,” Arthur said, leaning up for another messy kiss. He had enjoyed the d/s play, but he wanted to be totally present for every moment of Eames’ cock up his ass. 

“Darling, I thought - I literally thought you’d never ask,” Eames purred into his mouth.

“I’m not asking,” Arthur said, smiling wickedly.

“I’ll have you begging,” Eames replied as he lifted off of Arthur and flipped him over, all business. Arthur, despite intending not to enter the submissive headspace, felt his body go limp and pliant with the manhandling. If this was what his libido had been waiting for, he had no arguments. He’d never been so turned on in his life, and he’d just spent the last few months as horny as he’d ever been.

Eames had Arthur face down on the sheets, straddling his thighs while he used both hands to grope his ass, alternating kneading with light spanks, clearly for the purpose of enjoying the way Arthur’s cheeks bounced. Arthur arched up into the touch and Eames groaned and grabbed harder, pulling the cheeks apart. 

“God in heaven, Arthur,” he whispered. “You’re a vision. I’m going to-” he broke off as he rummaged around for the lube, then Arthur felt the cool wet pressure of a slicked finger pressing delicately around the perimeter of his hole. He pressed back hard, needing to feel it inside him instantly. Eames grunted at the sudden movement, then laughed triumphantly as he slid it home, crooking it _just so_ , and bringing tears to Arthur’s eyes. 

“That good, love?” 

Arthur whined in response. That same curious sensation had come over him again, much more quickly, which was odd because they weren’t even explicitly engaged in a scene. But he didn’t think he could form words if he tried, and he just wanted to do whatever Eames wanted, however he wanted it. 

Another finger slid in and Arthur writhed on it, bucking to get it further in. “Slow down. Up on your knees,” Eames said, his voice rough with arousal, the voice of Arthur’s dreams. Arthur complied without a second thought - he got his knees under him and his body stilled. Another finger prodded at his entrance but he didn’t move a muscle. He wanted it so badly, but he wanted to please Eames even more. 

“I take it back, pet, move as much as you like. Fuck yourself on my fingers.” Frantic with need, Arthur obeyed and was rewarded with another brush against his oversensitized prostate. He keened and Eames did it again, then withdrew to press his cock in, just a fraction of an inch.

“Tell me you want this,” he growled. “Tell me you want this more than you’ve ever wanted anything.” 

Arthur did, he did want it exactly that much, more - but forming words was all but impossible at this point. His head was buzzing and floating, almost as if he wasn’t really there, but he was there, his body was alight with the most intense pleasure. He pushed against Eames’ cock, desperate to have it further inside, hoping Eames would get the picture. 

“You can’t, can you?” Eames’ voice was thick, almost incoherent with desire. “You actually have lost your words. Oh Arthur,” he groaned as he slid all the way home, bottoming out against Arthur’s ass. 

Arthur was not in control of himself anymore; Eames held the reins entirely. His body and mind were filled to capacity by Eames - his cock, his voice, his warmth, his will. When Eames began pumping in and out of him, his body just took it, no resistance at all. He was flying, there was no barrier between them, they were one glorious impulse towards release. The world blurred into Eames’ cock spearing him and his hands holding him in place, implacable, relentless. There was no time. There was no Arthur. There was only this, this one moment.

\---

Eames watched himself fill Arthur’s body over and over, the sight reaching deep inside him. He’d had idle fantasies of this for years but hadn’t adequately anticipated how it would feel in reality. As it so happened, Arthur wasn’t the only one with no words. Arthur’s body was insanely receptive, taking him in like he was born to it. He was torn between making it last and pulling out all the stops, but it felt so incredible, the choice was made for him. He was merely human, and no one could withstand the sensations that assaulted him on every slide of his cock within Arthur’s tight little body. 

He fucked into Arthur like his life depended on it, hips pummelling his asscheeks and making them bounce and ripple. Eames tried not to bruise him with the grip of his hands but it was probably a lost cause - he had to ground himself somehow. Arthur was clearly lost in subspace so it was important not to use him too hard, but god damn it, control was hard to cling to. Forcing himself to slow down, he focused on Arthur’s reactions, knowing how critical it was to make sure he didn’t overstep any boundaries while he was so vulnerable. As soon as he let off the pace, Arthur reared back onto him, reaching back with one arm to clutch at Eames’ arse, trying to force him in harder. Eames held the line for a few moments and then gave way and fucked into him hard, fast, thorough. He was rewarded with a long stream of lovely nonsense from Arthur’s mouth, pleading noises that consisted mostly of yes and more and need.

His orgasm built quickly, a tidal wave of unstoppable force. He gave into it, pulling out and coming all over Arthur’s arse, slumping against him for a moment and then filling Arthur again with the fingers of one hand while the other jacked him off, sure and swift. Arthur’s inarticulate cries filled the room as his hips helplessly shuddered, pinned between Eames’ ministering hands. Come spurted from Arthur’s cock and covered Eames’ hand as he milked it out to the last drop. Arthur’s body trembled violently and he collapsed on the bed with a gasp.

Eames leaned over him, whispering in his ear that he’d be right back, and went to the loo to gather some wet towels. Returning, he saw that Arthur’s eyes were closed and his breathing was regular - either he was asleep or he was still floating in subspace. He very much hoped the latter.

The first swipe of the damp cloth caused Arthur to twitch and his eyes fluttered open for a moment before closing again as he smiled. “Gonna clean me up?” Arthur slurred softly. “You're... so...” he trailed off, unable to complete the thought in the state he was in. Eames smiled as a pulse of longing went through him at the sight of Arthur so undone. 

He gently maneuvered Arthur’s legs apart to reach between his legs with the washcloth, tossing it on the floor when he was done. Then he lay down next to Arthur, winding his arms around his slim shoulders and pulling him into Eames’ warmth. Arthur’s skin was chilled, so he lifted the sheet up over them and stroked his limbs where he could reach them. Arthur made a barely audible humming noise and turned further towards Eames, brushing his lips against Eames’, perhaps intentionally but perhaps not. 

“Shhhh,” Eames said reflexively. He actually didn’t mind the noise Arthur was making, not at all - it was a simple animal noise of contentment and it struck a chord in him. He was, he realized, extremely satisfied by the way all this had turned out. Not only had he finally gotten that leg over, but Arthur - Arthur had turned out to be sensual and kinky and game in ways he’d never dared dream. Not to mention, the ease with which he slid into submissive headspace… Eames was awed by that. He felt the heady buzz of anticipation fill his veins. 

He’d rather assumed that getting Arthur in bed would be a one-time, 'work it out of his system' type thing. Clearly not. 

Eames buried his nose in Arthur’s hair and breathed for a long moment. He was definitely losing something. Not his mind.

\---

Arthur came back to himself to the sound of Eames’ nearly inaudible murmuring, closer to a rough purr than speech. “Who’re you talking to?” 

Eames startled and slid his hand down Arthur’s stomach, distracting him somewhat. “Myself,” he said. “Just reminding myself I’m not dreaming. Or crazy.” 

“Well, I don’t know about the latter,” Arthur smirked mildly as he pulled Eames down for a lingering kiss. 

This whole libido thing was working out, after all.


End file.
